Illiana
by Aline Sitoe
Summary: Elim Garak meets a strange young woman.


Illiana

**Illiana (1997)**

amantari2001@yahoo.com 

Based on: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine copyright Paramount/Viacom and _Miriam_, written by Truman Capote in 1945.

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For several years, Mr. Elim Garak lived on Deep Space Nine, in modest quarters at the easternmost end of the Habitat Ring. He was a tailor by trade, operating a small shop on the second level of the Promenade. While the Cardassian's past remained disputable, he was no longer the lonely outcast. Business was good, if not always stable, and there were a number of people with whom he could share a meal and some pleasant conversation. In his own words, "It is a full life, if only a bit benign."

Then he met Illiana. It was the end of the month, and people had little money or time to invest in hand-made clothing. Garak stood by the entrance of his shop, passing the time by noting the fashion flaws of all the passers-by: a male Bajoran's suit was long outdated; a female Vulcan's jewelry too excessive; a Gorn's long auburn hair obviously fake. These and other inter-galactic victims of bad taste flocked to the Replimat directly across. A line stretched around the corner; there would be (he could hear the groans) a long wait for seats. After an hour, Garak grew tied of playing arbiter of fashion. The line seemed to be taking its own time and, looking around for a new distraction, the tailor suddenly became conscious of a young woman standing by the airlock.

Her eyes were the loveliest he had ever seen: soft and large, like a child's. Their deep violet color made her light gray face seem all the more pale. Her hair was jet-black, bound in a single long braid, and a dark blue hooded cloak drooped on her tiny frame. There was this look of quiet longing as she stood, hands clasped firmly around the large travel bag hanging from her shoulder. Garak was intrigued, and when he made eye contact with her, she smiled. The woman walked down the stairs to the entrance and said quietly, "Is there any way you could do me a favor?"

"I'd be glad to, if I can," Garak replied. The woman turned towards the Replimat.

"If it isn't too much trouble, I was wondering if you could show me how to use a replicator." With one quick movement, she handed the tailor her debit card.

They went over to the Replimat together. As they waited near the end of the line, Garak happened to glance at the card. It was Cardassian, though the emblems were at least two decades old. The name had long since worn off. "I think it would be a good idea to get your account updated," he said. "You could run into problems if you plan on using it outside this system." The woman said nothing. After moving up two places, she carefully removed her cloak.

Her dress was cream silk, with a multi-colored embroidery around the collar and cuffs. Examining it more closely, Garak noted that this too was an older design. After moving up several more places, that tailor remembered his manners. "By the way, my name is Elim Garak. And you are..."

"Illiana," she said, as though, in some curious way, the information was already familiar.

"Illiana..." He repeated, expecting a last name.

"Just Illiana."

"That's a bit unusual."

"Is that so?"

Gradually, the two found themselves in front of a replicator. Illiana did as the tailor instructed, watching in delight as a bowl of l'danian spice pudding materialized from thin air. Once seated, Illiana thanked him, gesturing towards the seat at the opposite end of the table. Garak would have joined her, but a small group of customers milled near the closed doors of his shop. "My work awaits," he said apologetically as he handed the woman her card. "But may your stay here be a pleasant one."

Illiana nodded ever so slightly. 

Over the next week, business remained painfully slow. Garak often found himself closing shop early, passing the rest of the day at Quark's Bar or with Odo and Doctor Bashir. By the end of the week, Garak wasn't working at all. He had decided to take some time to do research on Earth culture.

That evening, Garak had fallen asleep on another of the doctor's spy novels when he heard the door chime . At first, he thought it was a mistake and whoever it was would go away. But eventually, the ringing was replaced with a steady knocking that grew louder by the second. He looked at his clock then climbed out of bed, trotting barefoot across the cool, carpeted floor. The knocking continued until he deactivated the lock.

"Good evening," said Illiana.

"More like good morning," said Garak as he blinked against the incoming light. "I remember you..."

"I thought you'd never answer, but I kept on trying; I knew you were home."

Garak noticed that Illiana was now wearing a green velvet dress, her hair was unstyled, flowing to her waist in one endless line. "It's rather chilly out here, mind if I step in?" she said.

"Now isn't exactly a good time..."

"I promise I won't be long," Illiana insisted.

Then, with a gentle gesture, she urged Garak aside and slid into his quarters. The sound of silk rustling could be heard as she strolled across the room.

"Your quarters are lovely," she commented. "The temperature is just right." She gazed at a pot full of pink buds sitting on a corner shelf. "Romulan Hyacinths," she said in amazement. "How did you get them to survive indoors?"

"Is there something I can help you with?" Garak asked tensely.

"Sit down,"said Illiana. "You look upset. I hate to see people upset."

Garak remained standing.

"You know, I don't think you're glad I came." For a second time, Garak was without an answer. He turned his head, leaning his right hand against the wall. Illiana smiled innocently as she seated herself at his desk. Even in the dim light, Garak could see that her eyes were now a shade darker than before; her skin a little less pale.

"You know," Garak said sarcastically, "The universe is a dangerous place. Didn't anyone teach you that young women have no business in strange quarters?"

Illiana shrugged, then gravitated towards a small, oblong device sitting at the far end of his desk. With one tap, the screen came to life. "A line to Cardassia," she said as she viewed the screen.

"Leave that alone," said Garak anxiously. "Don't you dare touch that!"

"Certainly," she replied. "But I don't see why you're so upset." And then, "I'm quite thirsty, why don't we have a drink? Some kanar would do nicely."

"My dear," Garak sighed. "I'll give you the kanar, but only if you promise to leave. I have to go to work in a few hours, and I'd like a little peace and quiet."

"But we haven't had a chance to talk."

"Perhaps some other time," said Garak, struggling to control his voice. "I'm really not in the mood."

Illiana began to twirl a long strand of hair. Her eyes seemed thoughtful, as if weighing the proposition. She turned towards the window. "Very well," she replied.

You're getting old, Garak lamented as he retrieved a tall bottle from his desk drawer. As he poured out the thick, bluish liquid, the tailor could hear the sound of data padds scattering. "A decade ago, I would've killed someone like her for less..." He stared at the bottle numbly, biting his lip until he noticed a trickle of blood running down the corner of his mouth.

"Illiana," Garak called as he placed two drinks on a tray.

But there was no answer. He entered the room; placing the tray at the corner his desk. He saw that his hyacinths had opened, (as they did only at mid-day) and that the room was now empty. It gave him a queer sensation. Without explanation, Garak spun around, crossing a small hallway leading to his bedroom. As he slid the door open, his eyes grew wide in shock.

"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled, darting forward.

Illiana jumped back, more startled by his choice of words than by being caught. She stood by a bureau, a small metal case opened before her. She stared at Garak for a second, then waved her right index finger.

"Such ugly language," she said scornfully. In her left hand she clutched a small crystal bracelet.

"Return that at once," Garak demanded. He felt the urge to call security, but it seemed ridiculous.

"This is lovely," she said as she stared at it admiringly. "Why don't you give it to me?"   
Garak could feel his legs tremble. He leaned against the doorway in order to steady himself. His head was unbearably heavy, the veins in his neck throbbing.

"I can't...it belonged to my mother."

As Garak stood, striving to shape a sentence which would somehow save the bracelet, it suddenly came to him that there was no one whom he could tell; he was truly alone; a fact that had not entered his thoughts for a long time. Its sheer emphasis was stunning. But here in his own quarters on this hushed station were evidences that he could not ignore or, he knew with startling clarity, resist.

With a smile, Illiana gulped the kanar. When it was gone, she took a napkin and daintily dabbed at the corners of her mouth. The bracelet dangled on her tiny wrist, its dark green crystals glimmering.

"That was acceptable," she sighed, "But an older vintage would have been better. The older, the better, don't you think?"

Garak leaned on the edge of his desk, the drink in his hands untouched. His robe had slipped sideways, and his hair was disheveled. His eyes were stupidly centered on nothing, as though he'd just gone through one of his own interrogations.

"Do you have any candy--perhaps some Delivian chocolates?" Garak nearly dropped the glass. His head swayed slightly as he tried to focus his eyes.

"You promised to leave once I gave you the drink."

"Is that so?"

"Look, it's late, and I really am quite tired."

"Mustn't fret," said Illiana. "I'm only teasing."

Illiana rose from her seat, gently smoothing the wrinkles which had settled in middle of her dress. She extended her palm and whispered, "Now bid me adieu."

"I'd rather not," Garak replied flatly as he turned away. Illiana lowered her arm, and shrugged.

"Very well," she said. But before leaving, Illiana paused, turning around to retrieve her empty glass. With one quick move, she hurled it past the tailor, striking the pot holding the hyacinths. The pot disintegrated with a crash, spreading flowers and dirt across the floor. The mess crackled underfoot as she walked to the door. Before exiting, Illiana glanced at the scene once more. If Garak didn't know better, he'd swore the woman was confused by what she'd just done.

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Garak spent the day in bed, rising once to cancel breakfast with Constable Odo. He took his temperature and had none, yet his dreams were feverishly agitated. Their unbalanced mood lingered even as he lay, blue eyes staring wide at the ceiling. One dream merged into another like an elusively mysterious theme in a complicated symphony, and the scenes it depicted were sharply outlined, as though sketched by a hand of gifted intensity: a young woman holding pink flowers and wearing a Gul's uniform, led a patrol through an endless stretch of battlefield, and among them there was an unusual silence till a soldier at the rear asked, "Where is she taking us?" "No one knows," said another marching in front. "Does it matter?" asked a third soldier,

"After all, she is quite lovely."

He woke the next morning feeling better. White stars twinkled through the bedroom window, dissolving the last of his unsavory thoughts. After straightening his quarters, Garak stepped onto the Promenade to discover a bustling, cheerful mid-morning crowd. He returned to the Replimat, where he ate breakfast and chatted happily with the Andorian waitress. Then, he opened his shop. Though he had no idea if business would improve, Garak still felt that it would be a good day. Not even a jammed lock could disrupt his amicable mood. He called for a technician, but ten minutes had passed and she still wasn't in sight. Finally, he began whacking the lock with his fist. To the small crowd of onlookers, the smile on Garak's face suggested a perverse enjoyment. With a flurry of smoke and sparks, the door suddenly slid open. The crowd paused, then burst into a round of hearty applause. And with a great flourish, Garak bowed.

It was while rising that he saw the man: a Bajoran, well over a hundred, leaning on the railing above. He wore a ragged brown suit, and a tarnished earring hung from his shriveled ear. Suddenly Garak realized that the old man was smiling at him. He nodded back, but he was certain he had never seen this person before. The man shuffled to the stairs, Garak's eyes following as he slowly made his way down. Once there, he stayed near the wall, occasionally stopping to catch his breath. He then crossed directly in front of the shop. As he passed, Garak noticed a pink hyacinth, in full bloom, hanging from his right breast pocket.

After closing for the day, Garak headed to Quark's to pick up a special package. "You're in luck." the Ferengi grinned as he handed over the ornate glass bottle. "This is the last vintage kanar left on the station." From there, he went to the florist, purchasing a pot for the few flowers he had managed to save, though the price was intolerable and the pot itself bore little resemblance to the original. Finally, he bought a box of Delivian chocolates from a Bajoran gift shop right before closing time.

The hyacinths were placed decoratively in the pot by the window. The bottle of kanar sat upon a tray on the coffee table, while the chocolates lay neatly in a dish close by. Garak sat at his desk, the only sound being an occasional computer beep. At precisely 18:00 hours the door chime sounded.

"Illiana?" he called as he rose from his seat.

"That's correct," she replied, her voice sounding disturbingly pleasant. "Now, let me in."

"Go away," said Garak. "I don't want to have to hurt you."

Slowly he drew a disrupter from a panel in the wall. He walked to the door, calmly listening to the chime; on and on. "You might as well leave. I have no intention of letting you in." After five minutes, the ringing stopped. Then, hearing no sound, Garak concluded Illiana had left. Slowly, he opened the door, looking to his left, then to his right. Illiana was leaning against the wall, arms folded authoritatively. At her feet was her travel bag.

"I thought you'd never come," she said peevishly. "Here, help me get this in," she said as she hurled the bag in his direction.

It was a not spell-like compulsion that Garak felt, but rather a curious passivity; he took the bag with one hand while concealing his weapon in the other. Once again, Illiana sat at his desk, watching dispassionately as he intentionally slammed it onto the middle of the floor.

"Thank you," she replied with a smile. Looking satisfied, she spun round in his chair, her long hair brushing across her face. "I have good news," she said. "Look inside the bag."

Kneeling, Garak untied the cord and lifted out a blue chiffon dress; then the white one which she had worn the day they first met; then the cloak; and of the remainder he said, "It's all clothes!   
Why?"

"Because I've come to stay with you," said Illiana, eagerly reaching for the refreshments.

"You can't be serious! You don't know who you're dealing with!"

"Ah, but I do," the woman replied as she bit into a chocolate.

"You know," she continued, mouth full "the last place I lived was with a young Bajoran; but he was just a farmer and couldn't afford to buy me nice things. But I know I'll be happy here." Illiana rose, placing a finger to her right cheek. "Now, if you'll just show me where to put my dresses..."

Garak's face twisted into a smirk; he began to laugh, but it was a strange, joyless display. He pulled out the disrupter, slowly wrapping his index finger around the trigger. Though all his instincts told him to fire, Garak instead edged backwards till he reached the door. He stumbled through the hall and out into the corridor, eventually making his way to the Promenade. He rushed into the Infirmary, nearly running head-first into Major Kira. "What's this?" she said, holding back the Cardassian. "Is something wrong?" asked Doctor Bashir, emerging from the door of the supply room. And it was to him that Garak turned.

"Dr. Bashir," he cried, sensing comfort in his familiar face, "I know this sounds strange but...in my quarters..." He shook his head uncomprehendingly. "It just doesn't make any sense..." The doctor guided him to a chair, while the Major stood, looking on curiously. "Calm down," he insisted. "Start slowly, from the beginning..."

"There's this woman in my quarters, and I suppose that I'm afraid of her. She refuses to leave, and I just have this feeling that she's going to do something terrible. She's already taken my mother's bracelet, but I know she's going to do something worse!"

"A former lover?" Kira asked. It was hard to tell whether she was joking.

Garak shook his head. "I've never seen her before. Her name is Illiana, but, you know, I'm not even sure of that."

"You need to relax," said Bashir reassuringly. "Major, why don't you and Security have a talk with this Illiana..."

After Kira left, the doctor brought Garak a drink of cold water. "I'm sorry to make such a scene," said the tailor as he took a sip. "It's just that she refuses to leave. I'm not afraid of this woman, but I don't want to do anything to hurt her."

"You did the right thing," Bashir said sympathetically. "Now you'd better just take it easy." Garak nodded, taking another sip. As he put down the glass, he noticed the room was pleasant enough for sleep. In the background, the faint hums and beeps of computers could be heard, and Bashir, drumming his fingers, kept excellent time. A few minutes later, the comm went off, and the Major's voice piped into the Infirmary.

"There's no one here," she said with a shrug. "The woman must have left."

"Are you sure," the Doctor insisted. "Did security..."

"Yes," she interrupted, as if annoyed by the question. "We did several scans," she said. "There's no evidence that anyone other than Garak has been here within the past twenty-six hours."

"Tell me, said the tailor, rising "Did you happen to see a large bag? Or some dresses?"

"No, Garak, but I found an old bracelet lying on the floor near your desk."

A dead silence followed, and Doctor Bashir rolled his eyes.

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Garak entered his quarters softly; stopping dead in the center of the living area. No, in a sense it had not changed: the flowers, the chocolates, and the kanar remained in place. But the room was now empty, emptier than if the furnishings and familiars were not present, stiff and cold as a morgue. The desk loomed before him with a new strangeness: its vacancy possessed a meaning that would have been less penetrating and terrible had Illiana been sitting behind it. His blue eyes gazed at the spot where he had tossed the bag; a web-like pattern of lights and shadows now loomed in its place. And he looked through the window; surely the stars were real, surely the wormhole as well--but then, one could not be certain witness to anything: Illiana, so vividly there--and yet, where was she?

As though moving in a dream, Garak sank into the chair behind his desk. The room gradually melted to a dim haze; it was getting harder and harder to see, but he did nothing about it; he had no desire to turn on the lights.

Closing his eyes, he felt a sudden surge, like the wormhole opening. In times of terror or immense distress, there are moments when the mind waits, as though for a revelation, while a skein of calm is woven over thought; it is like a sleep, or some sort of super- natural trance; and during this lull one is aware of a force of quiet reasoning: well, what if he had never met a young woman named Illiana? perhaps he had only been dreaming? In the end, it was of little importance. For the only thing Garak had lost to Illiana was his sanity, but now he knew again what was real: he was Elim Garak, the Cardassian tailor, and this was Deep Space Nine.

Leaning his head back contentedly, he suddenly became aware of another sound: of the bedroom door sliding forth; he seemed to hear it long after completion--opening and closing. Then gradually, the harshness of this was replaced by the shuffling of footsteps. Beginning gently, it grew increasingly harsh as it trailed across the living area, stopping directly behind a solitary chair. Garak cringed as a hand gently touched his shoulder.

"Good evening," said Illiana.

**THE END**  



End file.
